The Cure for Boredom
by purpleanime
Summary: One Shots surrounding how Anthea came to be well... Anthea - P.A. and eventual lover of one of most powerful men in Britain. No particular order.(First Fic in a long time. No Flames, I'm a novice to the extreme.)


Chapter 1: A business proposal

" _You lot can't even get a word out of her? Oh for heaven's sake do I have to everything around here?"_

" _Don't be reckless, Holmes, she's killed more of our men than you can imagine!"_

" _12, there is a number-_

" _That we know of! Who knows how many have gone over looked-_

" _When it comes to the body count of an assailant, I leave nothing to approximation… she's killed 12 operatives." He retorted "No more, no less."_

" _So what you're barging in there to be number 13?"_

" _Don't be ridiculous…" he rolled his eyes as he prepared himself to enter the interrogation room. "if she wanted to kill us, she would have done it when we brought her in."_

"Afternoon," He greeted placing his umbrella in the corner of the room and sitting on a steel chair right across from her. He read her quickly, nothing new was gained from observing her. He'd been on her case for a week now, A millennia for him, he was absolutely bored with the operatives he had to work with and the only thing keep him from shuffling away from this case and onto something more interesting was this girl. Her rap sheet wasn't remarkable what was remarkable was the fact that she was standing in front of him. Caught by morons she'd outsmarted for a decade.

At the moment she was handcuffed to a rather uncomfortable chair not unlike his own. She scanned him with a disinterested look until she noticed his eyes. Grey with a speck of green in them. Not entirely uncommon but they seemed to bring a smile to her face. He shot her a puzzled look; it's the first time she had shown a smile since her detainment.

" I must be frank with you, I've spent a lot of time and even gone so far as to do "leg work" in preparation for your capture but I just cannot seem to understand one crucial element of this operation."

She sat up slightly intrigued at his tone, most of the others who'd tried to interrogate her came in either trying to put the fear of God into her or trying to act like they were her saving grace in this her "darkest hour." She fought hard not to laugh in their face at the absurdity of it all. He, however, just seemed like a bewildered parent trying to understand why you dropped out of the university during your last semester.

Reading her body language he saw that her curiosity was peaked and he continued.

"Perhaps you can shed some light on the answer." He requested. She raised her eyebrow as he leaned in closer. He smelled like rose wood and cardamom - his aftershave she imagined. Cologne didn't stick to the skin like aftershave did. She smiled at the thought that he got all gussied up for her.

"why are you here?" He asked in genuine frustration. He looked up to see her look of utter disbelief. She bit her lip to prevent what was coming next but it was in vain. She had begun bursting into laughter. He gave her a minute to compose herself all the while wearing a very bemused expression.

"I can't…" she started between chuckles. "I can't with you." She replied as her laughter died down. "You come in here, dressed like a blokified version of Mary Poppins, and then after you have your lot snatch me out Luxemburg and interrogate me for four days, you're asking me what am I doing here?" Her Scottish accent poured out in this last line. "You a little rusty at this interrogation thing or you just walked in here by accidently thinking this was the loo?"

"I'll answer your question when you answer mine." he replied unfazed by her reaction. _Finally,_ he thought.

"What question? I'm here because your people brought me here, I don't even know where here is." She replied quite exasperated. He scoffed loudly.

"Oh please, you're not talking to one those fools from Langley or even MI6, let's not waste any more time shall we after all, the Americans are dying to drop you off into some hole of a prison and throw away the key- Mind you, their request is the most merciful."

She gave him a bored look. imprisonment or death did not faze her and looking at how battered up she was neither did torture.

"Do I really have to drag it out of you? Come now." He requested. "You want to be here, my question is why?"

"Listen I'm into handcuffs and rough foreplay as much as the next girl but want to be here? That's a stretch."

"you've had 4 days in this child's interpretation of a holding cell, you could have walked out of here whenever you wanted and given your flare for the dramatic incinerated the building with all our operatives and myself still inside." He continued. "I counted 5 ways you could've avoided being capture all together." She raised a brow.

"6 if you really want to get creative with it." She replied. He narrowed his eyes. "So you're a little smarter than I gave you credit for, you work for MI6 it was an honest mistake." At this he let out a smirk. Him work for MI6? now that was worth a laugh.

"Why-Are-You-Here?" he repeated emphasizing each word.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She remarked slouching in her chair.

"Try me." He pressed. At his insistence she tilted her head to the left pursing her lips.

"Hmm…" she hummed as she sat up leaning her upper body to look him square in the eye. Mycroft resisted to the urge to flinch as she took a deep breath. "Low tar… that's odd, I took you as more of a cigar fellow."

"Do you remember your first cigarette?" she asked in genuine curiosity.

"Hardly, it's been decades." He replied dismissively. "what does that have to do with-

"Liar." She scoffed. "Of course you remember. You expect me to believe you memorized how many ways I could've avoided capture but not your first cigarette?"

"Fine." He indulged her. "I do."

"It wasn't anything remarkable was it?" she asked rhetorically. "It even kinda sucked but you kept doing it because it beat thinking about whatever bullshit was going on. Then all of sudden, you needed it because damn it, everything in the room you were in was boring and you wanted literally any excuse to leave." She continued. "What I do, Mr…"

"Holmes." He replied.

"Holmes, what I do, **everything I do** , is to keep me from being bored." She finalized. "And much like your cigarettes it's guaranteed me an unpleasant, early death."

"I deduced as much, I do thank you for the confirmation. However, my bad habits haven't killed 12 government agents."

"I don't think that's true." She remarked. "You'd think after you'd hit double digits you would've stop sending people."

"They were supposed to be our best." He replied nonchalantly.

"You knew they had no chance."

"I can only present my reasoning; certain things are out of my hands."

"Is that what lets you hit the pillow easier?"

"An assassin lecturing me on having a clean conscience?"

"I'm just shaking you off your pedestal, Sweetheart." She clarified. "You act like just because you're not out there on the field your hands are cleaner. I have no doubt in my mind your body count is higher than mine."

"I assure you, that's not why I think I'm better than you."

"Oh and what makes you think you're better than me?"

"Well for one, I'm not handcuffed to a chair."

As if a performer in Las Vegas, she plops the open handcuffs onto the metal table between them.

"Next." She demanded.

"Secondly, I'm not stupid enough to think MI6 wasn't going to kill me after I'd eliminate a good portion of their men."

"And yet here I am." She rebutted. "Not dead."

"For now."

"I'm not worried." She reassured him.

"Clearly."

"Your execution is schedule for 2 days preciously at noon."

"No trial?"

"Let's save the common wealth a bit of tax money, shall we? We don't need pageantry to prove you're guilty. Now should you be as good as I think you are, you'll be missing that appointment for the sake of better company." He insisted as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket removing a card. "I'll see you for tea at that time at this location."

"Aren't I a little young for you?" she teased taking the card.

"Don't flatter yourself, this is a business proposition."

"And what makes you think I'm interested?"

"Because I have what you want most in the world." He answered matter-of-factly standing up from the table.

"And what's that Mr. Holmes?" she asked with an impish smile.

"The cure to your boredom." He replied buttoning his suit and exiting the room. "Noon, two days." His voice trailed off as the door sealed close.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at the audacity of him. Her eyes fell onto the corner of the room where he had left his umbrella.

"What a tit…" she muttered. "You left your umbrella, you arse!"

She took a good moment to inspect the card. "Mycroft? Someone's mum didn't love him." She mocked as she flipped it over.

 _Do bring with you my umbrella, were having a bit of a rain spell this week.-MH_

"well… I'm certainly not bored by you, Mycroft Holmes." She admitted slipping the card into her bosom. "… not bored at all."


End file.
